


He stole more than a kiss.

by Dracarys14



Series: Kylo Ren. [1]
Category: Kylo Ren - Fandom, Star Wars
Genre: Choking., Dirty Kylo, F/M, Fluff, I really should fucking delete this., Kylo ren lemon, Lemon, Nah. I'm too lazy, Smut, Use of LIGHTSABERS, Violence, kylo is daddy, kylo ren smut, star wars smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracarys14/pseuds/Dracarys14
Summary: Kylo wasn't the first. He won't be the last either, likely. You believed you had forgotten him; pushed all memories of him from your mind, down to the deep pit in your heart. And then, after a riot gone wrong, he's back. Kylo doesn't leave you this time. He remembers and wants his kisses back, but he wants more. Kylo Ren wants more than just stolen kisses beneath a Twilit eve.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Series: Kylo Ren. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723942
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: Kylo Ren X Reader





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wassup Hoe!

"Ah. Your awake." Beads of sweat ran down your forehead, catching in the unrul tendrils of hair. Fear creeps into the room like a panther awaiting its prey, its shadowed presence agile, dangerous. You cough through a throat dry as dust, "Where am I?" and you look around the room with frantic eyes. His laugh sounds like the snarling of dogs, "Your my guest." And then you realise, he's behind you. He reaches around to stroke your hair, patting it down into place. Dried blood coats the corner of your torn lip and you try to reach up to wipe it away with a bit of spit but, you cant. Shapes swim around in front of you and you gasp, startled, when he leans down and, "I've been watching you. For some time, to be honest. It's been difficult, so very difficult, Y/N." His gloved hand touches your cheek, the leather supple and smooth. He drags his thumb down, shaping the countours of your nose, eyes, ears. Then, he grips your chin. 

"Who are you?" You shudder, moving your face away from his carresses. Something in the masked man snaps and he grips your chin roughly, pulling you back around just so you are forced to face hime; meet the cold, dead stare of a blackened mask. "I asked a question." You didn't want to be ignored by some robotic fool with a black mask and leather gloves. Fear is pushed back by anger, and fire shines in your gaze and burns away the terror the masked man inflicts upon you. "I want to go home! Just you wait until-"

"Until what? Daddy comes to save you? He's dead, Y/N. And the boy who swore to protect you, he ran when I unsheathed my Saber." The masked man pulls down your lower lip with his leather-clad thumb, "So . . . who will save you now?" You have always hated being backed into a corner by men. It's a huge irritant; men think they can just use you and push you around because your a feeble woman. Well, not this stupid fucking robot. You'll show him! You jut your chin out and bare your teeth, and they glint, threateningly white in the light. "I'll scream."

He laughs so loudly it makes your head hurt. Shapes swim around and bile rises in your throat, "I think I'm going to be sick." You rattled the chains binding your arms down and, "Please. I'm going to . . .I can't . . . b-breath!" The masked man pulls his thumb away from your lip and stand back up. His knees crack and that, except the heavy breathing beneath his helmet, can be heard throughout the chamber. You hiss in a breath, "I-I . . . Please!" If you had hands unbinded, you probably would have clawed your throat to ribbons. The masked man backs away slowly, "Say it." It's so difficult to breathe, let alone talk. You strangle out a yelp, "What!?" and he chuckles under the visor.

"Say it, Y/N." And then, like a thick fog driven away by the sun and wind, it happens. He's taking his helmet off and . . . It's him. Kylo. Your kylo, from before. And everything makes sense and bleeds out into the abyss, and you really want to cry. The choke doesn't go away though, it squeezes, tighter. you hoped Kylo would have stopped using the force for bad, you used to think he was so good, so kind. "Just you wait, Daddy! Kylo's gonna rise up, so high. Everyone's going to love him. You'll see." Even the remembrance of those words make you feel a fool. A tear slips out from the corner of your eye and, "S-Stop. Stop it, Kylo." And it's gone.  
The choking vanishes and all thats left is pain. A great wide empitness that leaves you feeling timid, weak. You let rip and start to cry, and it's all over. How easy it is to cry and look ugly, but it's so hard to reign all those shattering sobs back in, if only to weep some more. Kylo watches, pouting slightly, his thick brow raised. He sounds shocked, "Y/N?"  
Maybe's its simply the fact that you miss him so much, that your crying. Or maybe, just maybe, its the truth. The choked gasping of, "More. More." in the night, hidden under soft covers, smothered by pillows. Those days under the sun with him, before he went strange and started . . . this.  
He's reading through your mind, flicking through each memory like a dog-eared book. He's curious, concerened and aware. He steps forward, "I didn't . . ." But theres something so cocky about him you don't even want to risk it. Risk it all, a voice urges. You want to spill out secrets best kept hidden but part of you wants to keep it away, from him; the boy you lost, the man you forgot. You hadn't forgotten that day he left. He smashed all your fine china and the rain was fire, but you remained wooden. Everything went up in flames. He stole a kiss and more; the sweetness between your legs, the moans from plush lips. He stole a kiss and gave you a rose with thorns, and the thorns tore your fingers until they bled, and when they bled the roses wilted, until you threaded the petals through your hair and wept until the sun came back up.  
There was nought to speak of. Let's not remember that stolen kiss beneath a twilight eve.


	2. You make it so difficult.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I don't even know what a summary is.

Falling in love is easy. The fall from grace is as effortless as sleep; a midsummer dream that has sprung to life as it dances with the wind, and butterflies float in the sunshine midst. The fall from grace will, inevitably, lead to a dead end. The dead end has reached the peak. You should have climbed off willingly. You never should have said begged him to stay. In sleep memories come unbidden and unwanted. You can't shake them away, not matter how much you despair.

The grass is green and soft as satin beneath bare feet. The rain fell from the blue sky and kissed the flowers, leaving dew drops on every petal. A book in hand, you walk slowly towards a bed of moss. The babbling of a brook beckons you close but you ignore it. There is something so ethereal about the unmistakable past that you have to look back in awe and gasp, for the sheer beauty of a memory unwanted resurfaces. You lay down on the wet grass, spreading the skirts of your white dress around like a protective shawl. A ladybird crawls on a damp strand of grass but you pluck it from the earth and place it on your unopened book, smiling. Butterflies float around in the air and the dust turns to gold in the atmosphere, and shines. When the ladybird eventually flies away, you open the book and settle down comfortably to read.

An hour passes; you remember from the heavy tolling of a bell for dinner. _Stew with hot, buttered bread and apple pie for dessert._ You couldn't stomach dinner that night, not after . . . You fight to wake from the dream. You remember looking for a clock but there is none to be found. You try to pinch but no pain is felt. It's all a dream, just a dream. Dreams cannot hurt you. _Father said dreams are just simple plays being acted out but this one isn't. I can't shake it. I can't._ If this was a dream, not merely a memory that plagues you each night, you could run. A hand clad in leather falls heavy on your shoulder, strokes the bare skin. You jump, startled by the visitor, but you know who it is. Who he _was_.

"What are you reading?" He murmurs. His mouth is at the shell of your ear, his breath hot. He peppers your neck with kisses and croons slowly, "Sweet thing." You move your neck awkwardly, hiding the red flush that appears across your face. "It's fathers. He let me borrow it. It's about a girl and a boy, forbidden to be together." You close the book and touch the spine, tracing the spirals with your long nail. _Ben can be awfully distracting when he wants to be._ You turn around to loop arms around his neck, bringing him close, touching noses.

"It's rather good. I'll let you read it, if you like?" Across the meadow the trees sway in the gentle wind. He takes the gold filigree locket, touches the chain and then kisses you, harshly on the mouth. "I'd like more than a book, Y/N." His kisses taste of mint and wine. He's been drinking again, and his teeth bite into your plump lower lip. You gasp, pull away slightly. "D-Did you train? Today, I mean." He's sweating through his tunic. You can feel his kisses, smell the scented water he had bathed in just before training. He wraps his arms around your waist, hauling you into the air, before placing you unceremoniously on his lap. He's on his knees but he's so tall, so intimidating. His eyes are full of fire and fury and rage. Something akin to jealousy stirs inside his bones and shakes his soul loose, "Where did you go last night? I climbed up the balcony to find you but, you vanished." His hands rest at the base of your spine, pushing you closer to his chest.

"I slept with Alodie. She had a nightmare."

"Again?" His voice was riddled in suspicion.

"She's only a child, Ben." He pinches a cheek roughly and grins. His teeth glint white and malevolent in the mid-day sun. "I know, Sweet thing." He slaps you abruptly on the ass with his large hand, "Sweet thing. My pet. My little slave." You wrinkle your nose in distaste, "Please don't use that name. Please, Ben." You hate being thought of as a slave. It all seemed rather humiliating, grotesque even. Ben sniggered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And why is that, Y/N?"

"I don't want to belong to you."

His smile falls into a frown and hardens. He does not laugh anymore. The air around seems to grow thin and cold. Even his eyes grow cruel. They shine like a beacon through the thin fog and, "It's a bit late for that now, isn't it?" He doesn't push you from his lap, though. He sort of, _wiggles_ beneath you. "W-What are you doing?" You stutter, trying to move off him. He holds you down though, "I'm leaving. Tonight. This will . . . be our last . . . time together." _Leaving? Tonight? Why, that was just-_

"You can't! Ben, please, stop. If it's about last night, I'm sorry." The book lays discarded on the wet grass. Green water stains the delicate paper pages. Grass stains the ivory of your gown, "Your being cruel now! Just downright horrible." The hand on your ass has moved upwards now. Silence dawns and doesn't shift until his eyes bore into yours, daring you to speak out. Then, he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, squeezes it painfully. "You don't tell me what to do, _pet._ You are a slave. A little slut. That's all you ever will be, so don't presume to-"

You slapped him, enraged. He shoves you from his lap, aghast. You forget the book and run, bare feet, trailing dress hiked up over your knees, cascade of hair falling from its pins as you struggle through the meadow. Thorns catch your dress and tear the hem. You whimper when you stand on a stone and your legs buckle, starting to hobble. Heavy panting, like a hound entranced by blood, follows close behind. Running wasn't something a princess should have been particularly good at. Ben grabs your arm, pulling it so far back you fear he might break it. "Ben!" You yelp, struggling to wrench your arm free. 

He's on top of you now. Tearing your dress at the seams, forcing the heavy skirts up to reveal silky thighs untouched. "Y/N. Look at me. _Look at me_ , I said." Ben grabs your face, pulling you around to face him. He grips so hard it might bruise. He slaps you so hard dark spots appear and the world erupts into a prism of a thousand rainbows. Fear wracks your body.

It's not like how most movies portray them to be.

There isn't any screaming or shouting. You don't kick him away either, or even try to fight him off. Ben is panting, the muscles in his back moving upwards, his shoulders squaring and narrowing and blocking out the sun. You hold onto him, so tight you begin to cry. From shock and from pain. He cries out your name, so loud birds fly from the trees. You lay on the wet grass, on that damp bed of soft moss and let him, let him defile you and rob you of any dignity. You weren't a virgin, nor did it matter. He still shamed you, by doing what he did. Ben kisses you all over, his hand on yours breast, holding you tight against his body for fear of letting go. You wind your fingers into his hair and weep. "Ben-" You wince, shifting from beneath him.

He slaps you again, "No. I'm not Ben." and then is a soft kiss to take away the sting. "Kylo . . . call me Kylo." When he finishes and stand up, he presents a rose to you. "Take it." He growls, tucking his cock back into his trousers, lacing them up. His hair is ruffled, his eyes bleary and half lidded. He flings the rose at you angrily, "Take the damn thing!"

The thorns tear your delicate skin and blood blossoms to the surface like pearls painted crimson. The rose falls apart in your grasp and you thread the petals, white and pink and the palest primrose, through your hair. The petals are symbolic; they stand for love, dignity and the fall of grace from a girl named Y/N. You don't look at him when he pulls you to your feet. "Come here, sweet thing." You shuffle forward reluctantly. He tips your head back and swipes a bloodied finger across your cheek. He smiles, briefly. There is something so sad and pitiful as that of a youth who has lost his way.

"Go home." He whispers, touching a lock of hair with his bloody hand. You let him kiss you, just once more, and sigh. A tear slips down from tawny lashes and runs, ragged, down a cheek stained with red. You don't want to walk home, not like this. If you walk home and let father and mother and dear little Alodie see the bruises, the handprints on timid flesh, the mud stained gown and the thighs slick with blood, they will do it. They will, They will, They will.

"Go home, my love." He murmurs and you sob, heartbroken. "-Or come with me, Pet. I can make you happy, Y/N. You don't have to hide anymore. Not from me." Ben is not Ben anymore. He has forgotten the boy he was, the boy you loved. A strangled plead comes from scarlet lips, "I don't want to belong to you." but Ben doesn't move. His brow furrows, that dark heavy brow, and he grows serious.

"Then go home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up, alarmed. The riot had failed, hundreds died but for some reason, Kylo kept you. Like a pet. Like a slave.

Last nights dream had left you afraid, paranoid. You sat up in the bed, surrounded by mountainous pillows and quilts, eyes flickering and fearful, forever watching the door. You swore something was amiss. Something had touched you, last night, whilst you slept in Ben's guest room. You woke up to a pounding heat and a searing body temp. The nightgown had stuck to your clothes with sweat and tears had caused your eyes to appear puffy, red. 

"Something touched me last night." You announce, quietly. The mask stared at you, cold and black ad unwavering, the heavy breathing off-putting.

"Are you hungry?" Withut answering you he leaves, abruptly. You are mystified and confused, but he reappears moments later with a silver platter. He presents it to you almost shyly, as if afraid you'll push him away if he comes too close. "Eat it." He commands, having returned to his place beside the door. You stare at him, trying to figure out why Ben solo is so complex, so new. "Eat it. You won't like the punish that comes from disobeying me."

You eat slowly and silently, still hunched over like a child, covered by the quilt. First goes the porridge with honey and cream, then the yoghurt. You sip at the water. "That was kind of you." The silence dawns. _He isn't a robot. He's still Ben. Yes, still Ben._ Memories of Ben resurfaced in a flash like a film; Ben laughing in the meadow, training with his friends, sneaking into the castle kitchens to sneak out some tarts to share. Then, before you can help and forget it, the heartwrenching ones come along and stick like glue. Ben, Ben, Ben; Kissing beneath the abandoned stairwell, holding one another after an evening of sheer bliss and . . . the worst of it all . . . comes the sex. The memory that flits along is the worst.

Ben was your first. He stole it in the black of night, beneath silk covers and a crystal chandelier, with candles and bloody roses. He had made you cry and weep, moan and pray for the pain to be over but, despite it all, fondness returns like a faithful hound and stays with you. A burden on your shoulders, a prodding in the wound.

"You claim someone touched you last night." He was like a marble statue painted in ink, he never moved, not an inch.

"Yes." You say, rather reluctantly.

"And you tell me this, _why_?"

You were taken aback. Ben never treated you so coldly. To him you were home, a welcome hug, a sweet kiss and tender words. He was home but now he was just a shell; an angry husk of a man you had once dreamt of. Your cheeks flamed, "We were friends. Don't you remember?"

He doesn't remove that horrible black mask. He steps forward, agile as a panther, taunting you. "We were never just friends, Sweet thing. Do friends fuck each other until dawn?" Behind the covers and quilts you blush, ferociously so. _I'll bite him if he touches me. If he goes anywhere near me I'll-_

"Control your thoughts. Control them, _or I will_." You glare at him through crimson tinted glasses. Crying had made you red and puffy and sore. You couldn't care less for your thoughts anymore. "Really? Go ahead and try, asshole." 

The air goes out from your lungs so fast the room turns into a blur of black and white and dingy grey. The force has you pinned against the wall, as though you are being held up by invisible strings like a puppet. You gasp, "Ben! Don't. Please-"

Your head whips around to the side and bright spots dance in the inside of your eyelids. There is something so positively precious about the way Ben solo touches your cheek, caressing it with his gloved hand. "Shut up." He growls, cruel mouth hidden by the daunting mask. His hand, still clothed in that dark leather glove, reaches down below the waist, itching to touch, to take. You whimper, try to flail but its so hard when your pinned against a wall by something you can't fight off. 

"Stop calling me Ben, silly girl." He hikes your nightgown skirt above your knees, then over your hips and eventually tears the fabric of your underwear just to get them off. There's nothing to do but sit and take it. His armour is cold, the cloth of his cape scratchy and rough. His gloved hand touches your skin, pinching and tearing at the nightgown to reveal everything beneath. "Your mine. All mine. Don't you realise? Don't you see?"

Ben doesn't give you time to answer. He hits you, bursts a plump lip and throws his helmet on the floor, and it thuds. He licks the blood away and, "Call me Kylo. Scream it. Come on. Don't be a fucking bitch, Y//N." The third time he hits you is enough to send you over the edge. It drives a thick wedge between any hope you have left of him, of ben. Dear, sweet ben, who stole kisses and so much more. You can't cry, you just can't. It hurts, so bad, when he pushes your legs open and, still pinning you against the white wall, kisses you. 

"C'mon. Say it." Ben frees his cock from his trousers. He knows your not wet. He'll push it in anyway. He'll watch you bleed, just because he likes it. He liked your pain. He doesn't care anymore, because he's not ben. He's kylo. You whisper his new name through swollen lips and tinted teeth, let the colour die from his face and, just to hide the pain, you smile. You smile and beg him to fuck you, do it so hard you'll be sore and screaming and, Oh.

He's left.

Kylo Ren has vanished into thin air, and Ben Solo has ceased to exist.


	4. Cheese and wine are poor subsitutes for comfort.

He does not visit you for a week.

The days pass by in blurs though. White and grey and black, and maybe even purple if you squint at the bruises littering your skin. Ben - _His name is Kylo. You have to remember. You have to remember or else he hurts you_ \- Kylo, yes. Kylo has not dared to visit you for a week. He sends up thralls, pale and pasty and silent, and they do not speak. There was one, come to think of it, who spoke too much. She was a hazardous gossip with a big mouth and- _what was her name? Selene maybe? No. It was . . . it was . . . Satine!_ Satine had been the closest thing to comfort since the abduction and failed riot.

She told you things, of course. When scrubbing the sweat from your matted hair, wiping the dried blood from a burst lip. The last words Satine had said to you was, "I will see you tomorrow, My lady." and she had never come back. You missed the loud cries from the gossipy girl. You had asked her questions, of course. And she had answered them. 

"What happened after the riot? Did anyone-"

  
"Most died, My lady." She made the bed neatly, without looking up. "You were saved by Commander Ren but the guard . . . _well_ , Commander Ren did not spare the guard. Poor Hilde down in the kitchens had to spend her lunch mopping up little pieces of that guard from the floor." You were not particularly fond of your father's guard but you winced nonetheless. He had tried to keep you safe and failed. There was no one to blame. No one to pass anything on to. It was just you and Satine, alone in the room. 

"And my Father? Lord Iden, he is alive and well, I presume?"  
Satine took her time. She faltered a bit, just a tad, stuttering as her face turned beetroot red. The freckles moved when she scrunched her nose. "I-I am sorry, My lady but . . . He died. A few days after the riot, to be true."   
You had not seen Satine since she had left, with soiled garments and the promise of tomorrow, yes tomorrow. The new maids were silent and pallid, like mice scurrying around your boudoir, cleaning and tidying and ignoring the captive between the sheets. No maid ever had the same face. They were different. You had not learned their names despite asking for them deliberately. Perhaps if you befriended one they would set you free? The reason for their silence was rather grim.  
They had no tongues. They had been cut from their mouths and sealed with a hot blade. The sight of it near drove you insane. Talking to yourself had become a constant thing, like a comfort in the long dark night.  
"I know why you're doing this. You coward! Y-You fucking Coward!" You looked around the room wildly, "Where are the cameras? I know you're watching me. Sick freak!" If he was here you would have tore his eyes out, scratched him with nails long as daggers, punched and kicked and cried. "Let me out!" You screamed, banging on heavy doors with furled fists. You beat on the door until your knuckles are startlingly red. 

"Go to sleep." 

There is no one in the room. Not a single soul yet a voice cries out, dark and menacing and without malice. You whirl around, heels grinding into the concrete floor. "Where are you? I knew you would do something like this! LET ME OUT." A small red flash in the corner of the room catches your eye. A smile flits across lips chapped from chewing in nervousness. "I found you."

"Go to sleep. That's an order, Y/N." He sounds tired and unamused. _Well, hell!_ You flash the camera with the little speaker a sly grin. A thought, so horrific and terrifying and utterly brilliant it makes you want to weep, dance and cry so loud the whole galaxy might hear. _Do it, Do it. Its the only escape._ You press a finger to your lips and, "Shhh." walk slowly into the bathroom. You stare into the glass mirror, trace the contours of a face without hope and SMASH.

  
Glass breaks and shatters into icy fragments.

You pick up a shard, long and sharp and walk back into the room. Looking into the red flash of the camera with bloodied hands and a nerve-wracking smile, you do it. You slide the fragment along the delicate skin of your throat, all the way down, past the collarbone and neck and over your shoulders. You stare fixedly at the camera, taunting it. You coo slowly, "I'm going to sleep, Kylo. And, _oh dear lord_ , this 'sleep' . . . it's going to be wonderful."

  
You trail the glass down to your wrist and hiss in pain. _Do it, Do it, Do it._ That sick inner voice comes back. It's your only escape. _Do it, Do it, Do it._ Grab his attention, make him beg and plead. _Take me back home, please, please, I beg of you. Do it, Do it, Do it._ Blood drips onto the floor in trickles. It makes your hands slick and you cry, breaking the stillness of air and peace. 

You drop, then.

Drop down and hit your head real hard on the concrete. The floor sways below, back and forth and back and forth. Arms clad in leather and Kevlar go from behind and pick you up, dainty as a doll, slick with blood and lips, bitten so hard they bleed and . . . _It's all so easy. So, so easy. He's back. He's back, oh lord, He's back._

"No, No. You're not leaving me again. D-Don't you fuck-fucking dare!" 

  
It seems like he's crying. Howling whilst wiping back tears from his scarred cheeks. _Kylo Ren never cries._ You were definitely mistaken. A drop of water drops and splashes on the smiling face of a girl harrowed into her only way of escape. He's crying. _He's crying. Oh Lord, I beg of you to forgive and relieve me of this. Kill me, let me die. Let me fall into the depths and never come back. Do it, Please, Please, let me fall and never fly back._

"You're not leaving me. I-I'll fix this. Fix _you_ , yes, I'll fix you. _Not leaving_ , never." _How bizarre. He seems to care._ The thought makes you giggle.


	5. I will break every bone in you're body if you think of doing it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut 2 come at the next chapter, lol.

A cold compress is placed upon hot, feverish cheeks. Eyes that are blind to the truth look around to scan the new, foreign boudoir; white, fluorescent and, _eerily_ , like a surgeons room. Those eyes, so blind and timid and nervous, in a face stricken by trauma; they belong to you. _How sad._ A tendril of sweat-soaked hair lays flat above those guileless eyes. You ache to brush it away because it bothers you. You go to raise a hand, to brush that tendril but the motion halts, falters. Chains clink together in a rusty pitch. The chains around your wrists, so heavy and so cold, rattle.

A ragged sob breaks through chapped lips, _Help_. The air from your lips come away in misty clouds, to appear if only to dissolve within a moment. You rattle the chains again, struggling to break free from those frigid bracelets. _Someone help me._ You were a princess, a renowned lady of grace and decorum. Well, you were. A long, long time ago when you had a living father and a warm mother, and a sister who cried out in the night for a saviour. _Alodie!_ The remembrance of a sister you had grown rather fond of overflows and threatens to overflow like a dam that burst it banks. _Oh, god, Spare my sister from this fate and-_

"Alodie is safe."

 _Ben, Oh! My dearest Ben._ He is smirking, this scarred stranger. His name though, you must remember his name. The scarred man made you scream it, beg it, moan it in twilit nights beneath soft covers and golden light. _Ben, Ben, Ben._ His smirk drops though, and he is sullen. Handsome and sullen and scarred. The large red seam runs down his cheek, down his neck - _I kissed him. His neck, His lips, His . . . Ben. Darling, dearest Ben_ \- and then its back. That slow, dangerous burn that spreads and spears and destroys. Tears fill and roll down that horror-struck face and, "You're not Ben. My Ben was-"

"He died." That horrible clipped tone. You shudder and clink those awful chains, "No! He lives. _Inside you_. Ben, please." 

The scarred stranger has discarded his name for another. "When will you stop?"

"Huh?" His words have you itching for a reason, a answer to the assault of worries worming down, deep inside that wonderful brain of yours. The scarred stranger does not move. He wears all black. Black, Black, Black. Stark against the white room, stark against the white robe and the white wrists and then-

 _Oh. I remember now._ Ugly stitches, long and ugly and stitched with black thread. You can't cry. You mustn't. Instead you get lost in that brain again. Flicking through the memories, glossing over the details, remembering and thinking, wistfully, what could you have done to change it? Stop it? It garnered his attention though, granted. You had succeeded. He couldn't ignore you forever, leaving you trapped like a bird with its wings torn off. _No, he can't do that. He couldn't!_

The thought makes you sneer, and Kylo see's red.

"All this," He snarls, storming forward to point at that ugly black seam, "For a little _attention_?" He is incredulous, shocked. His eyes burn into paper skin and tear, tear, turn it all into flames that dance until they drop, dead. You clink the chains, faking pride, sneering. "Couldn't keep you away, could I?" _You're obsessed with me, Ben._

" _Kylo_! My name is Kylo!"

That wicked sneer, laughing despite the ache and the itch and the horrible feeling of being trapped. You are a shallow husk. He can't hurt you anymore.

"You're pathetic, Ben." The cruel laughter echoes around the eerie room and, "Fucking freak. Robot. Can you even get it up?" _Humiliate him. Make him hurt. Make him bleed and break and-_

"Silence!" He barks, showing off those sharp white teeth. He bit you once during sex. _Hard_. It drew blood and you slapped him for it. He hadn't tried it again. The scarred stranger, Ben or Kylo, whoever he may be, growls low. "Control you're thoughts. You don't want me to-"

"You can't hurt me anymore." You are crying now. Laughing and crying and trying to free yourself from these god-awful chains because . . . 

_Oh, Because!_ _Why must there always be a reason._

There _is_ a reason though. 

"Let me die." You beg, throwing your head back in despair. The chair judders backwards lightly, squeaking from lack of use. You turn on him, enraged. "LET ME DIE, YOU FUCKER!" And, _oh god_ , it's so easy to cry and cry until there is just headache and bliss and the sheer, raw awakening of another emotion. You have nothing left to lose. 

"Let me die. Please. It's all I want." The pitiful feeling in your body radiates up and out. You are allowed to do this, _say_ this. You can take a moment and make it last forever, just do it, _please_. The world is on fire and you rise, higher and higher, until you kiss the clouds and die down. _Baby, let me leave. You are a freak, sick, sick freak._

"Screw it." You sob. There is nothing left to hold you back now. Kylo takes the worn pages and pictures and secret moments of your mind and, pulling away the edges to reveal, reads. 

You danced with him slowly, his hands upon your waist, holding you close, drawing you. _Never let go, never, please, I beg you._ You kissed while you did it, talked 'till the sun came up and shone bright, dandelion and lemon and gold, ever so pretty. _Keep talking, I want this to last forever. Just us, me and you, no one else. Please._ Then it was the ocean, blue and shining and that lovely white sand, toes buried in sand and then . . . came the sex. Pulsing, pushing, again and again. _Please, More. I need more from you. Everything and more, more, please._

"God, Y/N. You are so . . . _broken_." He's not crying anymore, but you are. Maybe if you cry so much you might just drop down and die. Is that a thing? It could be. You could be the first one to do it. 

Before you know it he's wiping away those warm tears with a cold, wet rag. Just silence, still and unwanted and unwelcoming. He wipes each tear away and then, like a beacon of light in a dangerous fog he kisses you, makes you feel whole.

"You think I don't understand? I miss the freedom. I miss poetry. I miss you, most of all." His voice is gruff and unwavering, like gravel staying stuck to a rocky cliff. He kisses you again, until it becomes difficult to breath, and . . . It's glorious.

You gasp, "Run away, _with me_. Ribbons and poetry and singing in the rain." _Let me daydream, get lost. It's all I want right now._ The tension around your tender wrists loosens, falls slack and drops with a loud clank to the floor. He's letting you go, letting you leave. Oh, god it came true. But then it all goes too far. 

Kylo snarls, "No. Not that. Never." And he slides his tongue into your mouth, forcing his lips back on your own. His hand is at the back of your neck, touching and caressing and then, roughly, gripping and pushing so he can get better access. You could run, _but no_. You can't. He's still reading through that novel in your skull, engrossed. 

"I can't breathe. Kylo, I-"

You sank into his arms wrapped with muscle and entwined with brute strength. A feverish, urgent need rose and did not wish to be quelled any long. "Yes," You murmur. "I need it, please." And he tastes of sin, _delicious sin._ Kylo Ren is everywhere. He is the sun and the rain and the bitter cold wind. Kylo Kisses you harder, deeper and you feel helpless. This surging tide of fulfilment blooms, blossoms and you lay down, limp. Let him take and take, until he gives you more, so much more. Kylo cries, "You do something . . . like that, ever again . . . I'll break every bone in you're body!"

"You're killing the mood, Kylo." His mouth is insistent, parting your shaking lips and, sending shudders down to quake shattered nerves, he made you cling to him with such ferocity it seemed rather crude and unfitting of a princess. "Say it!" He demands and, _I'll never leave. Never._ Kylo smiles, hesitantly but, sweet relief, he kisses you once more and send you into a frenzied spin. You melt into his grip, wrap those perfect thighs around his hips, dangle over his back and knit over neatly. Gripping his hair, moaning as he slips a hand down to touch and take, but give to you first though.

Kylo presses all his weight onto you, leans back a bit and hiking up that awful gown, presses you closer. _I want you. All of you. Every single bit and not a drop less._ You crave the need to breath, lick, kiss, practically make dissolve into this perfect scene with you and him; only now. Kylo kisses you, lingering. " _Promise?_ You'll never leave me?"

He won't tell you he loves you. He never will. Maybe Ben would have, but this is Kylo. You want Kylo. No one else. Just him.


	6. Kiss me until it hurts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut ensues.

It happened so suddenly the breath went out from your lungs, as if you had been plunged beneath the icy waves, forced to choke on cruel water until you bled from the inside out. And the stranger who saved you from the waves was also your greatest nemesis. He was tearing you apart, breaking every bone and splitting your soul into tiny fragments, drinking away all the glowing warmth of happiness, bathing in the darkness. 

You cried out, wishing you could beg him for help; _Fix me, Fix me up real good. Save me from the descent._ You wanted Kylo to take you back, back to when he was Ben, back to when he was yours, and you weren't a pet. You clutched to him, raking your nails down his back as he flexed, his shoulders obscuring the harsh fluorescent lights, blinding you and helping take away the blurring haze of the yellow flash. He grunted, looming above you, pushing you down, down. Tearing you apart, splitting you open, spitting on your soul. He chokes you, strangles you until you yelp, frightened, "S-Stop!" And he does. Slaps you roughly, spits in your mouth, makes you swallow it. 

You'd cry if he forced you to admit it. That this cruel, obscene and lusty display didn't make you writhe in pleasure. That you didn't like it. Because admitting things that are so, so wrong are very hard. Denying is so easier, and spares the shame of having to admit that you like it. That you need it. That every slap and choke and, "You little slut." Doesn't make your toes curl, your lips turn into a smile.

"Yeah. T-that's it!" 

He's finished. 

He's messy and sweating, stroking back damp hair, touching your cheek. "Are you alright?" He asks, gruffly. Its a habit, you suppose. He learnt it years ago and still hasn't forget it. You nod, "Hmm. Yes." And sigh, melting into his touch. He scoops you up in his arms, carries you, butt-naked except for a flimsy white robe, into his chambers, locks the door behind him. He lays you down on the bed, strokes your face with a wet rag, wipes away the bloodied lip. When he thinks your sleeping he kisses you, ever so gentle, on the scars. He kisses the cuts, holds you close and doesn't cry. You stare at him as he sleeps.

He is beautiful. 

He is a beautiful, wicked and irresistible stranger.

But you cannot deny that you love him.


End file.
